


comment puis-je me sauver?

by tawagato



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 10/10 SPACE UNCLE, Anxiety, CORAN IS SO GOOD I LOVE MY GORGEOUS MAN, Langst, Like, Oops, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, a reaaaaaalllllly bad one, allura was so confused, eventually, good platonic happiness, gotta love em, graphic depictions of anxiety, he's a trooper, hunk is a good kid, i love lance i promise, i'm sorry you read this, keith???? didn't know what was going on, kind of idk gotta play it safe, lance is coran's favorite? i think so, lance mcclain - Freeform, lol rip lance, me projecting onto lance oops, panic attacks are great guys, pidge was v concerned but didn't know how to deal, shiro was just trying to help, the aftermath of a public(ish) anxiety attack, trigger warning, w o a h, what even is the tense wtf, worried but really confused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawagato/pseuds/tawagato
Summary: itwasalltoomuchallatonceand thenit was nothing.





	1. pourquoi me fais-je tellement mal?

**Author's Note:**

> lol sorry i was up and this kind of just came out of my fingers

I've known English for twelve out of the seventeen years of my life. It's the only common language I have between my peers; I should be able to form coherent sentences as I would any other day. But, for some reason, it's like I'm back to the five-year-old me, the kid who moved from Cuba to America without knowing a lick of the native language. I'm confused and scared, terrified that I'll forget it all. The English words are flying right out of my head, the Spanish trailing along behind them. I can't do anything but gape at everything before me, comparing the vastness of space to how claustrophobic the room feels. It's dark, and the air is too thin, and I'm alone. I'm desperately scratching, reaching for someone to hold me as my mother did. I can barely register the loud sobs that escape me, though everyone around me can hear them clearly. I know that they are there, those cries, but I cannot hear the sound in which they create. I'm confused and scared, terrified when someone opens the door. I feel someone close in on my side, making me release a shuddering breath that sends a violent shiver down my spine. It's too tight in here, and all I can think about it getting out, getting away, throwing it all away. All of these sensations, these feelings, this silent sound is too much, too aggressive. 

Something encases me more, and I thrash my arms to try to move away. It scares me, how the feeling was so sudden and warm and cold all at the same time. I feel the soft way a voice is when it is whispering right in my ear, but I don't understand. I am being embraced, and for some reason, that only makes me panic more. Someone has found me, weak and fragile, and they will now think differently of me. They will tell the others, and I will be looked down upon as though I am useless. I already bring down the team, this wonderful team of elites that I have no part of. If they see me like this mess that I have crumbled into, they will replace me. I am simply dispensable; you'd think nothing less of a seventh wheel. 

I can no longer catch my breath, it seems, as I am wheezing through the thick layer of pent up feelings that lodges itself in my throat. My eyes are wide and unseeing, lost in a sea being doused by torrential downpour. The voice beside me is raising in volume, desperately needing something, calling out to someone. More people enter the room, and I can't breathe at all. I can feel the tears, hot and painful on my cheeks. The next voice is commanding but oh, so, so gentle. The last voice was familiar, but I could be dead, six feet under, and still recognize this particular voice. 

The arms around me are gone and, despite not wanting too, my breath releases itself in a state of very mild relief. A warm, rougher hand grabs my own, and I remember this feeling and latch onto it like a baby too its parent. It is the very definition of comfort, and all I can do is lean heavily on the person providing me this tranquility. It's not enough, I'm still shaking harshly and my breath is uneven and cracking. But this soft touch is something concrete, and I need that. There are no soft whispers in my ear, just quiet. The noise comes from around me, the people surrounding my bed as I am huddled in the farthest corner. My incoherent thoughts seem to slow, and my body's tense hold releases, but only by a little. I can feel my eyes close, not to sleep but in an attempt to ground myself. I focus on my breathing, to force it into a steady, deep pace. I focus on my heart, to try to get it to beat at the same steadiness it usually does. I focus on myself, and not my surroundings. I urge myself to listen, though, to make out what it happening. I can hear, hear one to tell the others to leave, and another, much more avid and angered voice, say no. Say that no, they cannot leave, not when I am like this. 

Breathing becomes difficult again. It is my fault that these people are being distracted from their everyday events, the things they need to be doing. I am holding these people back because I am weak. My heart beats too quickly, now, and my breath has been taken from me again. I try to grab whatever is near me, and then, I feel a hand in my own and I grip it so tightly. I need something, anything to hold onto to keep me from drowning in everything that I know. The hand squeezes mine, and another sob wracks through my body and I can't stop it from happening. 

There's a weight on my shoulders that is only getting heavier, pushing my body farther and father down. I am hunched over, searching for anything to stabilize myself. Everything is getting darker, I am getting dizzier. I am held fast, myself unmoving. It happens all at once, where there is something, and then

nothing.


	2. s'il te plaît, faire me plus fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can u tell that i myself am a mess and i’m just kinda writing about it

It's cold. 

The bed that I'm laying on, that is, not the air around me. Actually, it's quite warm in this room, this room with dim lights and a comfortable silence. The sheets, though, are absolutely frigid. It's kind of nice, though. The pillow is soft, squishing and molding to the weight of my head. Which, to be honest, feels like a bolder. It's heavy, a thundering pain rocketing through it when I try to raise it. So, I stay still. I turn my head slowly to take in the area. My mind is clear, and that's calming. I am able to see and to hear and understand. I can feel everything all at once, as though all of my senses are particularly precise right now. I can hear the soft snores of someone sitting in a plastic chair in the corner; I turn to see that it is Hunk. That alone sets me at ease. 

I feel bad for what I've done to him, though. He's had to ease me through my fears and terrors before, but what occurred was so much more than anything that has happened previously. He does not deserve to have to deal with that; it's not fair and not right. He's so kind and caring, and I've never given back what he's given to me. I don't wake him. I don't know what time it is, or where exactly I am. I could easily ask Hunk, because he knows. But I won't, because I know better than to wake him and ask him pointless questions. It's not fair to him; nothing is. I know that he would never mind me waking him and asking him things, even if only for reassurance. But I still won't. I refuse to make myself seem weaker than I know I am. 

Instead, I decide to get up, to leave, to walk around and get something done. I don't know why I do, but I sit up despite the raging headache that begs me to stop, to lay back down. I ignore it, standing on shaking legs and move to the door. When I reach the door after making my way to it with struggling stabilization, I open it slowly and quietly as not to wake Hunk, and close it the same way when I exit. I use the wall to support me as my legs feel heavy. It's hard to move them, dragging my socked feet against the ground. I don't know why my body feels as foreign as it does, but I can't get my eyes to look ahead or my arms to swing. I can't get my mouth to speak or my ears to hear. It's like I am gone, no longer one with myself. I am now two separate beings, divided by a sturdy, tall wall that I can not figure out how to cross.

I continue working my way down the hall, not really sure what my plan was to begin with. With all of this disorientation and confusion, what help would I be anywhere? I would be continuing to burden my team. I know that I need to stand back, stick to the defensive lines. I am used when needed, and only when needed. I know I need to drill this into my head an get it right so I can maybe, finally do something right. Maybe Shiro will finally be proud, looking at my with the same, gleeful face he looks at Keith with. Maybe Keith won't be so angry with me all the time, and we can finally start to bond as we are supposed to as paladins. Maybe Pidge will be more open and willing to listen, if I am able to make more of a contribution. Maybe Allura will see me in a better light, a light that allows my opinions and ideas to be heard. Maybe Hunk and Coran won't have to work as hard as they do, tiring themselves before the end of the day rears its head. I need to be a soldier, a flexible teammate. A mobile threat to the Galra, one that can engage in any situation. I need to be better, so that I do not burden my team like this again. 

My plan now is to spend more waking hours than Keith on the training deck. I need to be there as much as possible, training and working to get better. I need to be able to fight with more than just my bayard. While it should seem feasible, my body refuses. I still feel weak, I still cannot get my legs to move. This, in itself, is more disappointing than I. This, in itself, cements into my mind just how powerless I am.

The very fact that I cannot make it down a hallway, this hallway dimly lit by blue lights that give off their subtle glow, is devastating. It makes me think, now, that my goals are too big, too wide. If I were fit to be a paladin, this would not be an issue. A burden is something I would not be. If I were fit to be a paladin, I would not be dragging myself to the training deck; I would not be so exhausted from something so simple and seemingly effortless.

I don’t want this. I don’t want to continue like this. Change needs to happen, altercations must be put in place. Voltron, as a whole, exists with many goals that must be fulfilled. Voltron is not a singular being, but five, and those five individual parts must be strong enough individually so that the group together can better complete the tasks given. As it is, that ideal has not been met. The weakest link is too weak. So, I must initiate personal change. I must alter myself for the better of the team.

And that? That I shall do without fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch me not update for another five months lmao let’s go boys 
> 
> no with everything that just happened imma be updating LOTS heck yeah 
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> kill me 
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> 
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> :’)

**Author's Note:**

> yikes 
> 
> also there is going to be more added to this dw
> 
> edit: okay now there's a questionmark instead of a one we're good guys


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